


Tryout

by Agent_24



Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Trust, Weapons, fairgameweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24
Summary: Weapons are an extension of the soul, and as such, Qrow is understandably reluctant to let anyone touch Harbinger. Beyond that, handling a scythe around someone with a bad luck semblance is precarious business at best. But Clover isn’t afraid of a little bad luck, and Qrow never wants to say no to him, for some reason.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661305
Comments: 23
Kudos: 145





	Tryout

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3: Family/Weapons

“I can’t believe you block attacks with this,” Qrow says, equal parts impressed and skeptical. He rolls his wrist, turning Kingfisher over his hand before gripping the handle again. It feels all wrong after handling Harbinger, most of the weight set near the grip with the harpoon at the back end and the reel sitting close to his fingers.

Clover grins. “It’s sturdy,” he says reassuringly. “It’d take a lot of force to snap that rod, believe me.”

Qrow glances back at him over his shoulder, taking a moment to admire the way Clover leans on Harbinger’s hilt, the tip of the blade stuck in the training room floor. “Speaking from experience?” 

Clover winks at him. Qrow huffs, then drops Kingfisher’s line to examine the cord. He’s seen the kind of force it can take plenty of times already, but how Clover manages to angle it the way he wants each time is something that goes beyond Qrow’s understanding. As it is, a fishing pole is probably the last item he’d think would be able to be turned into a weapon.

“Give it a try,” Clover says.

“Uh, dunno if you remember,” Qrow says with amusement, “but my semblance isn’t the kind of thing that’s gonna go well with a pointy, flailing hook.”

“You handle this monster just fine,” Clover says pointedly, motioning at Harbinger.

“That’s skill, not luck,” Qrow quips. “Everything I do with Harbinger is something I do with my hands.”

Clover pouts. “What, you think I can’t work Kingfisher without my luck?”

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Qrow says, chiding. “I’m just saying you know your way around a line way better than me.”

A smile works its way over Clover’s mouth, his eyes cast away briefly like he’s flattered. “Fair.”

Kingfisher clicks quietly as Qrow reels the line back in, then nods towards his own weapon. “You ever fought with a sword before?”

Clover shrugs. “Sure, but just in basic combat training way back in my academy years.”

“Not your style?”

Clover laughs. “A little too heavy-handed for me.” 

“Let me see how you do then.”

Clover’s laughter cuts off abruptly. “Right now?”

Qrow snorts. “No, next Tuesday. _Yes,_ now.”

“With Harbinger?” 

“You see any other swords in the general vicinity?” 

Clover takes a minute to consider the blade, then sighs and shrugs helplessly before gripping the handle and holding it up in a basic stance. The point of the blade angles a little low. “Qrow,” he says, brows knitting, “This might be the most top-heavy weapon I’ve ever held in my life.”

Qrow laughs. “Doesn’t one of your operatives have a hammer?”

“Hammers are _supposed_ to be top-heavy,” Clover argues. He flushes, just a little. “And I don’t handle Timber. Elm would kill me on sight.”

Qrow feels an uncontrollable grin spread over his face. The idea that Clover minds handling his weapon less than he minds handling the weapons of his teammates is…intriguing. And Harbinger looks good in his hands. 

Ironic, considering that might be where Qrow’s heart is, too.

“Your problem is that you’ve got a normal sword’s balance in your head,” Qrow tells him, stepping closer. He folds Kingfisher, and shoots Clover a sly look as he returns it to Clover’s belt. “Harbinger’s primary form is a scythe, not a sword.”

That flush from earlier spreads to the tip of Clover’s ears. His eyes flit down to Qrow’s hands, still lingering by his hip. His Adam’s apple bobs.

“Mode trigger’s here,” Qrow says, a little quieter, and reaches over to move Clover’s hand over it. “Squeeze slow.” 

Clover looks up at him, and there’s a noticeable pause where it’s clear he’s not really paying attention to the instruction. After a moment, he sharply diverts his gaze back to Harbinger and squeezes the trigger gently. Heavy gears shift and clank against each other, the blade breaking apart into a curving arc and the hilt expanding into a snath. Clover watches it with wide eyes, and then the blade abruptly drops to sink into the ground. 

They both blink. Clover says flatly, “This is even worse.” 

Qrow snorts. “I take offense to that,” he says, though the amusement in his tone gives away the lie. “You want top-heavy so the momentum carries the blade instead of the hilt.”

“Doesn’t it fly out of your hands on the return spin?” 

“I’m _very_ good,” Qrow says, smug. “And _very_ strong.”

“I see that,” Clover says, and his eyes flit over Qrow’s figure, just once. Qrow tries not to let his pride swell in his chest. It doesn’t work. As if realizing he’s been caught, Clover clears his throat, then asks, “Show me?”

 _My strength?_ Qrow nearly says, but that seems like a step too far for now, so he bites his tongue. “What, how to spin it?”

Clover nods. “Scythes aren’t exactly part of the core curriculum here.” 

“They aren’t anywhere,” Qrow muses. He reaches out again, then pauses to ask, “You mind?”

Clover lifts Harbinger to offer it back, but Qrow just puts his hand over Clover’s, tucking his thumb against the man’s wrist to nudge his hand a little further down and underneath the grip, palm up. “Red grip is for holding,” Qrow says. “Black is for sliding. You grip there if you want to extend your range.” 

Clover nods, but his gaze keeps darting between their hands and Qrow’s face. Qrow is absently reminded of daydreaming students, though admittedly he’s a little flattered that, this time, _he’s_ the distraction. 

Feeling a little mischievous, and maybe a little mean, Qrow steps closer again and slides an arm around Clover’s back, settling his other hand over Clover’s fingers. “Dominant hand closer to the blade,” he murmurs near Clover’s ear. “Once you finish a swing, this hand should always return to this grip.”

He can’t be certain, but he thinks Clover isn’t breathing. He prompts, “Got it?” 

“Sure,” Clover says, but it comes out raspy. “Dominant hand up high. Right.”

Qrow crosses their right arms over Clover’s middle, swinging the blade left before raising it above their heads. “Your smallest area of attack should be what you can comfortably reach without stiffening your arms,” he goes on. “The snath should always be close to the body, short of extending your range.” He follows the arc through till Harbinger curls too near their thighs, and brings their hands to a stop. “Shoulders back, follow the direction of the swing. Never lock your elbows. You’re new at this, so just arc it backwards, like rowing a boat, then bring it back to rest at your right.” He steps away to give Clover space to complete the motion, and Clover looks up sharply, like he hadn’t been expecting the loss of touch, before following through.

“Good?” Qrow asks, watching for Clover’s reaction.

For a moment, Clover doesn’t meet his eyes, gaze fixed on Harbinger and a splash of red over his cheeks. There’s color going all the way down his collar, too, almost stark against the white of his uniform. 

Qrow can’t help feeling pleased about it.

“This…seems like it takes a lot of skill,” Clover says after a missed beat. “I’m impressed. And Harbinger is—” 

“Brilliantly crafted?” Qrow interrupts, grinning. “Well-rounded? A work of art? I know.”

“Alright, take it easy, hotshot,” Clover huffs, apparently recovering. He sobers up a little, then adds, “Seriously, Qrow, this is an incredible weapon. And the way you fight…I’d never guess how difficult it was to keep form with it. The dedication it’d take to be half-decent with this, nevermind a master…” he trails off, then reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. Qrow’s eyes, without his permission, dive to Clover’s other arm to watch the man’s muscles flex with the weight of the blade.

“I really admire you,” Clover admits then, and Qrow looks back up just in time to meet earnest green eyes.

He can’t help smiling at that, dropping his eyes as he reigns in the old habit of wanting to deflect with a joke, then sticks his hands in his pockets and scuffs the toe of his boot on the floor. “Thanks,” he says, feeling almost shy as he looks back up. “It’s mutual.”

Clover brightens, then hands Harbinger back. When Qrow takes it, their fingers brush. Clover says, “Think our time in here is about up, but…maybe next time, I’ll show you something with Kingfisher.” 

“If you don’t mind possibly getting a hook in your pants,” Qrow chuckles, “sure.” 

“You won’t hook anybody’s pants,” Clover says, waving the thought away dismissively.

“Hey, with my luck—”

“With your _skill,”_ Clover interrupts, nodding at him pointedly, though his gaze is fond, “You’ll be a natural.” A pause, then, “It’s getting late. We should grab something to eat.”

Qrow blinks in surprise, then hides it by quickly shifting Harbinger into compact mode. Clover would like to spend more time with him, is what that request means. It’s not really surprising, given how things have been going between them lately, but the idea still leaves a pleasant warmth in his chest.

“Anything good in the mess hall tonight?” he asks, tucking Harbinger at the small of his back.

Clover grins, pulls his Scroll from his pocket and wiggles it in invitation. “Couldn’t tell you. Figured we could get takeout and eat in the rec room.”

“You buying?”

“I will, if you’ll eat with me.”

Qrow shoves him lightly. “I was kidding,” he says, enamored with the way Clover laughs and slides right back into his space.

And ordinarily, he’d be adamantly against letting someone else mess around with his weapon even once, never mind twice, but…he wouldn’t mind seeing Harbinger in Clover’s hands again, he thinks.


End file.
